


Nothing

by axumun



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axumun/pseuds/axumun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, in Tommy's case, a rule wasn't broken after all: a line was blurred, swept away, out of focus. That important line between friendship and love, between coping and loss of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrosgf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrosgf/gifts).



> For this glam_kink prompt: I'd like to see a fic where Adam/Tommy get together on tour. Tommy doesn't ever claim to 'see the light' that he's gay or anything. It's more a case of being in close contact with someone for so long your normal friendship lines get blurred. Along with the trauma Tommy experiences with his father's passing leads him to Adam's arms.
> 
> Adam being Adam is head over heels and doesn't realize that Tommy's emotional attachment is just because they're living in each others' pockets. I wanna see the relationship during and the aftermath when it falls apart because Tommy realizes he doesn't have any feelings but friendship toward Adam.

His heart matches the steady pounding of the bass in the background. Everything around him is so _alive_ , swaying bodies and flashing lights and _Adam_ , who's somehow able to look like he's having the time of his life while keeping a protective, almost worried gaze on Tommy.

Tommy stands off to the side, drink in hand, eyes dark and wary. He's not quite feeling the music; isn't feeling quite as fun and carefree as everyone else. He doesn't notice Adam making his way through the crowd until a warm, familiar hand finds his shoulder.

"We can leave, if you want."

Tommy sighs, pretending not to notice the masked guilt in Adam's voice, though there's no reason for Adam to feel anything like that: no guilt, no shame, and _definitely_ no pity. Fuck no.

"I offered," Tommy reminds him. "I wanted to be here."

"But, Tommy..." Adam doesn't know whether to take his hand away or tighten his grip. "You're not..."

There are so many things Tommy could say to that, so many things he _wants_ to say. _I'm not, what? Dancing? Having fun? Happy?_ Despite his raging mind, none of the words filling his head sound like anything he'd ever say to Adam. Grieving is one thing. Acting like a jerk to the one helping you do so is another.

"You're not...I just hate seeing you like this, Tommy. That's all."

Tommy stays absolutely still. He's not sure whether to laugh or cry or scream. He wants to do all three at once; get everything he ever felt out on the table, strip himself bare of all this baggage he doesn't need. He wants to trust someone with that, wants someone to be there when he's ready to fall, ready to break.

"C'mere." Adam gently taps Tommy's shoulder and leads him out onto the dance floor. Tommy sets his drink down, and his feet practically move on their own, trusting that Adam wouldn't ever try this sort of thing if he thought for a moment that he would regret it, or that Tommy wouldn't like it.

Adam completely ignores the song; ignores the heavy, hectic beat and the people following its lead. He focuses only on Tommy, keeping a careful gaze on him, moving slowly. He gently brushes the backs of his fingers up Tommy's arms, up his neck, over his cheek, then dragging a hand lightly through his hair, all the while, telling him to let go.

And, layer by layer, Tommy's wall is stripped away. He doesn't _forget_ the black cloud that's been following him around lately, but he finds shelter; finds a place where he doesn't let anything control him. He breaks free from reality's grip and moves with the music on his own, eyes locked on Adam, hands clinging to Adam's shirt just so he won't get lost in this sea of nameless faces.

It won't last. But, it's a start.

*

To some, rules are made to be broken, whether purposely or by accident. Sometimes, the rules aren't even made clear, but those who break them are still at fault. Maybe, in Tommy's case, a rule wasn't broken after all: a line was blurred, swept away, out of focus. That important line between friendship and love, between coping and loss of control.

It's not his fault, really. Being crammed on a bus for six months has it's pros and cons, and you're inevitably going to see every side of that person - literally and figuratively. You see them when they're pissed off, you see them when they're blissfully happy, and you see them when they're drunk. You really come to _know_ them more than you might want to, but it's a thrill at the best of times. It's awesome if you genuinely like everyone around you, which Tommy does.

It's even better when you know that those people have your back; that when you're going through Hell, they'll be there every single step of the way. That's what Tommy appreciates most out of the whole tour. More than fulfilling his dreams and getting his name out there and having a pretty good-sized fanbase; the people he meets are people he considers friends for life; people that he would call to his side until his dying day.

Adam flirts. No big fucking deal. He's got nothing to be ashamed of, but if he did, it wouldn't be for kissing his bassist on stage and calling him pretty. That's all show; it's all a side of himself he saves for his fans and what he thinks of as "stage reality". It's like a seperate life, a seperate _Adam_ , and the tour acts as a documentary for both sides of himself: the sweet, friendly, _selfless_ guy who can sing his face off, and the big, bold, glittery rock god, who, for the record, can _also_ sing his face off _._

Despite that, Adam might still be halfway to blame for the broken, blurred boundaries; lines in the sand that have no name, no consequence. Blame isn't top priority, though, when you're laying out the rules.

*

Life is something that slips away so easily; here one moment, gone the next. Many can attest to that - and at one time or another, _everyone_ can attest to it. It's one of those tests everyone talks about; something Tommy heard in a sermon or something as a boy and never really believed or listened to. Now, though, he understands. He understands first-hand the pain, the literal _ache_ in one's heart when a loved one is lost.

Though it's not something has Adam ever faced on such a close-to-home level, distant family members of his have died, people he knew one way or another, so he wants to believe he can feel for Tommy; wants to believe he can be there for him like no one else.

Tommy lets him.

On that first dreadful night, Adam sings to him; shares a bed with him and just _holds_ him, tries to help the only way he knows how: offering comfort, offering a shoulder, letting Tommy shatter completely in a way he's never allowed himself before.

It changes their direction completely, not that they ever had one to begin with.

They come to a point where they bring the onstage, offstage. It begins with kisses. Kisses hello and goodbye and goodnight. As time wears on and Adam pierces through more of Tommy's carefully constructed armor, they start kissing anyway. It seems to ground Tommy; to remind him that someone is more than willing to catch him if he decides to loosen his grip.

From there, the first line - the line between onstage and offstage - is blurred.

*

Adam is a total sweetheart. He will stop at nothing to make sure that the people close to him are safe and healthy and happy. But, he can't offer happiness. That's Tommy's job; something he has to find in himself. He can only offer the safety part.

The stage is one place Tommy can forget those stupid lines; can forget all the ridiculous expectations and just be what he's always wanted to be, what he was born to be: a musician. It doesn't stop him from noticing Adam's nearly constant gaze, lingering even as he brings his eyes to the crowd, connecting with them just how he likes - with mystery, with passion.

It's not that he minds Adam looking at him. It's that Adam's eyes never lie. He sees so many conflicting emotions in those depths: protection, worry, promise...and something else. It's not love. It can't be love. There's no way. Adam wouldn't jump into love so quickly; Tommy knows that.

He finds himself looking back at Adam, too, trying to tell him everything he would say. Things like _I'll be okay_ and _thank you_ and _you don't have to_ , things he doesn't quite believe himself. He doesn't want to tell Adam he doesn't have to look after him; offer his comfort. Adam _likes_ helping people, and hates being pushed away because of it.

Except, he never wanted to push Adam away. He just wanted to give him a little space; he had worries, too. Doubts about himself and sky-high expectations and no time to fit _himself_.  He means to ask about that; means to offer that to Adam. It's the least he can do, he thinks. The least of his thanks.

*

It takes a pretty long while for Tommy to notice little accommodations he's made for Adam; to notice that he fits in so seamlessly into Tommy's life that it's almost hard to realize little changes are being made. Like, sharing a bed. With a man.

Maybe, in the long run, though, nothing has really changed at all. He and Adam remain nothing more than friends. They maintain a relationship to be coveted; the kind of strong bond that entails that they would take a bullet for each other if need be, and they make it known, if only to one another.

Tommy notices other changes, though. He notices how much he enjoys the heat of Adam's sleep-warm body as they wake up early in the morning. He finds that he pays attention to details more, too: the silky slide of Adam's lips over his, the strong vibrato of his voice, the faces in the crowd that he strains his brain to remember in case they ever come back for a second, third, or possibly tenth time and expect to be recognized.

It's nice, sometimes. It makes him _think._ The problem, though, is that there are times when he doesn't _want_ to think; wants his mind to clear up, only to be interrupted again by Adam.

Like _that_ would ever happen.

*

"What are we doing?"

It's a very sudden, almost hesitant murmur. Adam meets Tommy's eyes questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"You're holding back," Tommy replies. "There's something you want to say, something you want. What is it?"

Adam sighs, pulls Tommy close. "You."

Tommy freezes in Adam's arms, as if that one word turned him to stone. He wants to respond, but he doesn't know what to say to that; doesn't know the context of how the word was used. "What...Ad-"

"No," Adam cuts in. "Sorry."

By this point, Adam has succeeded in thoroughly fucking with his brain. He doesn't know what just happened, and isn't sure if he _wants_ to know. Tommy wants to probe; wants to say something like, _you're doing it again_ or _you don't have to keep apologizing_ , even though Adam wouldn't like it. So, he keeps his mouth shut.

*

It's only the little things that have changed. Shows don't change. Routines don't change. Tommy doesn't change.

The lines continue to blur even more over time. Now, Adam sings to Tommy every night. Tommy likes to think of it as Adam's creative process. He notices that sometimes, if he tries humming or singing his own melody, Adam's face lights up as if that little light bulb from old cartoons has popped over his head, and he can't grab a paper and pencil fast enough. Tommy likes to read what he's written early in the morning; decipher all the scribbles and arrows. It's like his daily crossword puzzle he likes to do while he's sipping his coffee. He just makes sure Adam doesn't notice.

Some of the lines make him smile. Some make him shake his head. Some make him blush. Tommy loves all of it, no matter how amazing or amazingly bad it turns out to be, because it's all one hundred fucking percent raw, straight from Adam's heart, channeled through his hands.

On the morning Adam catches Tommy reading his latest scrawl, he can't stop laughing. It's not the reaction Tommy expected. He thought Adam might be angry, for some reason; thought that maybe the words weren't meant for anyone else's eyes.

"All for you," Adam says, and Tommy doesn't really understand what he means until he reads again. Every word on this paper has been written for _him_ , words of _always_ and _everything_ and _there for you_.

Blurring the lines even more, Tommy kisses him.

*

Tommy chooses to believe it's more for comfort than anything. He doesn't know what he feels, or if he's _supposed_ to feel anything, _something_. It should come to him over time, he thinks. Soon, he'll have words. This melting pot of emotions will soon have a name. It's what he keeps telling himself. Still, even as the boundaries blur, nothing becomes clearer.

He breaks it down. He admires Adam. He really, really does. That's probably why he's got so much faith in him; lets him take Tommy in and break him down to his most raw, his most open. It's why he's not afraid to cry around Adam, because he knows he won't be judged or scoffed at. It's why he's not afraid to speak; to spill all of his secrets, because he knows they'll never leave the room.

The secrets vary from fears to memories to his strangest dreams and thoughts. Adam always listens. He laughs when Tommy's words amuse him, and soothingly strokes Tommy's back when they break his heart. Sometimes, after a long day (which, on a world tour, is pretty much all of them), Tommy falls asleep in his arms right in the middle one of his stories, and Adam has to wait until morning to hear the rest. It's always worth it.

*

"We need to talk."

The words aren't nasty, or urgent. The words are calm, careful. Usually, these are the words that come before some big misunderstanding; an argument or a slamming door. Tommy sighs.

"About what?" The blond pushes up onto his haunches, trying to read Adam's face.

"This," Adam murmurs, waving a hand between their faces.

"Oh."

Adam sits up so he's at eye level with Tommy. "It's just, I don't know where to start."

Tommy smiles. _He_ does.

"I wanna know what's going on," Tommy waves a hand between them like Adam did, "...here. I wanna know what I'm feeling."

"What you're feeling?" Adam struggles to hide the mischievous glint in his tone. "Tommy."

He waits for a better response, one he can get an answer from so they can actually _talk_ and discover things they never knew they should know. He wants that.

Tommy bites his lip and says, "I don't feel anything."

*

He's not sure if he ever ruined anything. There was nothing to ruin; nothing between them but a good friend helping another good friend get through a hard time. Tommy appreciates that; cherishes that. He knows what it means to have a friend like that. But, he's afraid it was more than that to Adam. He's afraid that Adam meant everything he said; that all those words he wrote and the songs he sang were a big fucking neon sign pointing right to his heart, and Tommy never saw it.

Adam never looks at him quite the same after that. Or maybe that's all just in Tommy's head.

Nothing between them was broken. Adam would never let such a close companionship break over four little words, no matter how much they burst his bubble. They echo in his mind, over and over again, back and forth. _I don't feel anything. I don't feel anything. I don't feel anything._

He's learned to respect differing opinions, but this isn't just a differing opinion. This was so, so much more. This felt like rejection, even though it wasn't. This felt like a change; a compromise, even though it wasn't. It was just a few simple words spoken at the wrong time, and Tommy's afraid they can't be taken back.

Adam stops singing to him. He stops writing, and kissing him offstage. They still talk, though. The only thing they don't talk about is what they feel. That only ever got them into trouble.

*

Sitting on the edge of the stage after the last Glam Nation show is when everything hits him. For the past six months, this stage has been like his second home. He imagines all the empty seats filled with people, just like they were only a few hours ago. He closes his eyes and imagines lights and flashing cameras, fans screaming over the band, hushing when he opens his own mouth.

"Adam."

He almost jumps at the sound of his name, and watches as Tommy sits beside him. Adam smiles and greets him, and they talk about the tour, about how crazy and incredible the past two years have been. It's nice to still be able to talk with Tommy, if he doesn't want anything more; doesn't _feel anything_.

"Gotta get back," Tommy says. He's right, though: _someone_ must be looking for them.

Adam gets up, and words tumble out of his mouth with an exhaled breath, harsher than anything else he's ever said to Tommy. "Still don't feel anything?"

The words cut deep. If spoken in a more subtle way, it probably would've made Tommy laugh. But, spoken like this...It's like an insult; like Adam expecting him to feel something he just  _never will_. Tommy has to look away, and walk by without him.

It's nothing close to what Adam wanted to say. He would've been fine with words like _it's no big deal_ or _I can't make you_ , and even contemplated something more like _I don't care_ or _it's none of my business_. It's not Adam's place to want him to feel.

Adam imagines the crowd leaving the room, imagines walking off the stage and letting out that deep, deep sigh he'd held inside for six months. Then, he gets up, and goes after Tommy; goes to set things right. No more expectations, no more _feelings_ and guessing games. A talk. If Tommy will allow it.

It takes a while to get Tommy to listen, but he hears Adam out. With a smile, he agrees wholeheartedly, but still whispers that bone-chilling, "Nothing. I feel nothing."

 


End file.
